A Four Kingdoms: Origins Novel
Book 1
by
Jasmine Young
Stormfire
Copyright © 2019 by Jasmine Young
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2019
Website: www.jasmineyoungauthor.com
Email: [email protected]
“‘You cannot overcome this storm.’”
And he said: ‘I am the storm.’”
—The Legend of the Four, Author Unknown
Book One, Lines 1312-1313
Part One:
Fall
Chapter One
A royal lochos of five hundred soldiers had arrived to Mount Alairus, and by the end of the day, one family would burn.
Jaime Pappas ran between Ptolemy’s Library and the Prytaneoin, headquarters of the town administration. Once, these were great buildings of ivory and marble. Now they crumbled from neglect.
His bare heels skidded against the unpaved streets, plashed across puddles in his haste. A water jug balanced against his thick wool himation, the outer garment on his shoulders. Not even the beggars with their empty bowls lingered under the archways.
Fear set every vein in his body ablaze.
His mother had warned him to avoid the heart of town, especially Champion’s Square. The soldiers were like a swarm of blowflies there. He’d never seen a royal soldier in his life, not here, in the frigid alps of the northeast.
Today, they blockaded every intersection and postern gate. Human monsters carrying seventy pounds of steel. The sound of their jangling cuirasses and greaves whirred his heartbeats into a hum.
Looming over them was a bronze bull statue, liverspotted with patina. His last memory of a bull was the young one the Lord of Mount Alairus sacrificed to their god. Knife plunging into its chest. Its dying squeals overpowering the autumn gusts.
He shivered, but kept shuffling towards Champion’s Square. Jaime was disobeying his mother because of the pyre.
Periander Kreed, the blacksmith’s adopted son, whispered they were building one in the square.
Jaime slowed as the uneven path leveled into the village’s center. He was careful to drop his eyes.
Peri also said the people who ogled the pyre’s foundation learned the hard way.
“What art thou looking at?” the Archpriestess would say. “If thee hast time to bethink and behold, then the Holy Lord of Fire wot that thee hast time for labor.”
He couldn’t understand her Temple jargon, but Peri explained those unfortunate fools were forced gather and chop kingpine wood from the mountain. No food or rest until the pyre was completely built.
Gods.
And now it was ready.
Jaime hid behind a wagon of barley, raising his chin ever so slightly.
The scaffold was twice his height. A massive stake punctured the middle. The top of the wooden beam displayed the New Jaypes Emblem in crimson paint: an albino dragon. That was the King’s holy sigil.
Clouds blanketed the skies—they did for as long as Jaime could remember—but judging by the faded light that seeped through, nightfall would be here soon.
Why haven’t they announced who they’ll burn yet?
Behind the stake, high up on a fortification wall, a pair of milky white eyes stared down at him.
The Archpriestess, Damasia.
She had ridden here at the head of the lochos. Her head was shaved, her lips the color of dried blood. The New Jaypes Emblem carved the flesh between her dark brows.
Throat constricted. His asthma was returning.
The longer he looked, the more it looked like white mist was rising out of the air behind her, its tendrils curling over her shoulders to grab him.
Just the trick of the light. Look away!
He spun around—and the vertical handles of the jar slipped through his fingers.
Broken shards sprawled before him like clay egg shells, little rills of wellwater weeping into the dirt.
Jaime choked out a cry.
You can’t plough. You can barely barter. Can’t you at least carry water?
When he looked up again, the Archpriestess’s unblinking eyes were still fixed on him.
The white mist surrounding her was gone.
Jaime forgot the broken jar and sprinted home. For some reason, he was convinced he would turn to stone if he glanced behind him.
The soldiers cursed Townfold Village for being a “gods’ forsaken tundra” and even “Lord Jaypes’s pisshole,” but the bare simplicity of the unplanned streets and mud-brick houses soothed his sweating body.
Decades ago, Mount Alairus was known for its silver mines. The network of villages that now made Townfold grew fat with wealth. But then, before Jaime’s first birthday, the King depleted the quarries to fund his lochoi. The Townfolders, once wealthy merchants, were forced to migrate to the lowland cities or grow barley on the mountain’s frozen escarpments.
Most chose the former option.
Fortunately for Jaime, his late foster father owned a farmstead east of Townfold’s collapsing palisade. Jaime sprinted across a wooden bridge and out of the village. Gulped down the beauty in the silver strata of the dark skies, chilly-cold at this altitude. These peaks had a primitive salt-and-pepper look most of the year. Mount Alairus was like an unrefined hunk of marble.
He desperately needed it to stay that way. It was what he knew. The only thing he knew. And perhaps it was the last place in Jaypes Kingdom untouched by the King’s hand.
Their country house appeared over the dark horizon. He snatched the breather out of his pocket. Sucked deeply. The ephedra herb in the tube soothed his burning throat.
His asthma went back down.
Jaime’s bare feet slapped against the inner courtyard, its northside shadowed by a colonnaded porch. Their house, like all houses here, faced the south to maximize warmth. The familiar heat from the brazier and the earthy smell of charcoal evened out the shivers on his skin.
“Mamá!” he wheezed. “I’m back, but I lost the jar—where are you?”
No answer.
He skipped up the stairs to the second floor. Stopped inside his bedroom.
A cut of wool hung over the door leading into the second bedroom—a room that had stayed empty for as long as he could remember.
Two shapes stood behind the gaps of the curtain.
His mother’s tight black ringlets faced him. A husky man with oiled, clean-cut hair held her arms, but the curtain blocked Jaime from seeing his face. The overpowering scent of perfume—iris extract, with a pinch of marjoram—watered his eyes. They were talking in secretive whispers. He heard his name and a short curse.
He is downstairs. His mother. We must tell him—
No, no, we cannot tell him.
Jaime stepped inside.
Hida Pappas, his mother, abruptly blew out the stonemist incense on their altar. Blocked it with the small frame of her body. The stranger whipped around, diving for his shortspear on the bed.
Jaime’s mouth fell.
Gods.
“Hilaris?” he exclaimed.
His older brother was here.
Gods, gods.
This used to be Hilaris’s bedroom, back when he lived on the farmstead. Now he was the ward and heir of Gaiyus Sartorios, the Lord of Mount Alairus.
His mother explained everything to Jaime that night, seven years ago, when he came home
to find his brother’s supper bowl untouched on table:
“Hilaris tried to steal Lord Gaiyus’s silver drinking cup, but the Free Guard caught him—Holy Lord, my shame! They brought him before Gaiyus, but your brother prattled off why he did it, some nonsense about the economics of trade and profit. Lord Gaiyus was so impressed by him, he took your brother to his villa to live as his ward.”
His seven-year-old self pressed his lips together. “But Hilaris is coming home tomorrow, right?”
She paused.
“No, Jaime.”
After that day, Gaiyus Sartorios didn’t give a second glance at him. Or his mother.
Well.
Actually, Lord Gaiyus gifted Hida a fertile plot of land just below the akropolis, where his villa was. It would have yielded them two, three times their current income.
As if that could make up for stealing Hilaris.
But his mother had the good sense—and recklessness—to tell the old man: “Keep it.” All the other farmers had long moved into the town proper for protection after Gaiyus became lord. Hida, however, said, “It falls on me to steward my husband’s farmstead. Jaime and I are Hektor Pappas’s last surviving family. I hope you will understand.”
Lord Gaiyus’s silver orating tongue went stiff that day. Jaime loved his mother all the more for it.
Now, tonight, in the dim firelight, sweat trickled down Hilaris’s temple.
“Jamian,” he breathed, calling him by his full name.
Who is he? This doesn’t look like the Hilaris I remember.
Jaime stayed put on the beaten earth floor. The smoke from the dying incense curled into the air between them.
“What are you doing here?” Jaime croaked.
“I brought you something from Lord Gaiyus’s library.” Hilaris’s upper arms bulged as he lifted a heavy tome off the strongbox. “The Legend of the Four. Not many survive in our Kingdom. This is old, and worth a man’s fortune.”
Jaime went rigid. Any fool would know he couldn’t read.
They used to be close, but the gap between them grew so obvious now—his brother with his spotless politician’s chiton, and Jaime with his loins and wooly exomis, the inner tunic that drooped over one shoulder.
Jaime spoke through his teeth. “You come home after pretending we aren’t your family for seven years, and—and then you bring me a book?”
“Jaime, we must discuss—” Hida began, but Hilaris interrupted.
“It’s not like that, Jamian. I know you can’t—” He struck the wall with his fist. “I didn’t come here to insult you. In my world, giving a man a great work means you highly esteem him. I was going to share it with you. It’s a spellbinding epic.”
In my world? Seriously? In my world?
Hilaris stumbled over his tongue. “Let me tell you my favorite part, at least. Did you know banestorms were real two thousand years ago? They’re mega-storms the size of a continent. Back in the ancient days, some were even big enough to annihilate the entire race of mankind. A young warrior named Jaypes Ascaerii decided he would find a way to quell it.”
“Hilaris,” their mother urged. “We have little time—”
“And when Jaypes told his chieftain he was leaving, the chief laughed at him. ‘You cannot overcome this storm,’ he said. And you know how Jaypes Ascaerii replied?”
The muscles in Jaime’s calves trembled.
His brother continued, “Book 1, Line 1313: ‘I am the storm.’ A month later, he returned to the mortal world as the God of Air. There’s always hope, Jamian, no matter how dark the days become.”
The storm in him broke. Jaime hurled himself at Hilaris.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he screamed. “Even here, you have to be a big orating ass! Hilaris Sartorios, that’s who you are! Is there a line in your book for that?”
Hida cried his name and stepped between them, but Jaime’s hands formed claws. He raked them against the white folds of Hilaris’s chiton.
“Why don’t you take your flowery epics and stuff them in Gaiyus’s chamber pot, my lord!”
But his brother was stronger, bigger. In one pivot, he slammed Jaime against the chipped wall.
“Jamian.” Hilaris’s hooded eyes were wet. “I’m here because we need to leave. The pyre outside—” His voice cracked. “It’s for us.”
“You’re fifteen!” Jaime screamed back. “The Royal Decree doesn’t apply to you!”
“I’m fourteen.”
“Get off me! And get out—”
Hilaris looked at him seriously. “Why would I lie about that?”
The room started to ripple and blur. Jaime’s heart felt like it was plummeting at the rate of an eagle’s dive.
“The Royal . . . ” He swallowed, his throat dry. “The Royal Decree applies to you? To us?”
Jaypes was the only Kingdom where your age could mean your life or death. If you were a boy born in the same year as the missing prince—1982 Empyreal Time—the King’s soldiers ran their spears through your belly. This year, any survivors would have been fourteen. If you were fourteen this year, and the Capital found out you lied about your birth date to the annual census, you were burned at the stake for high treason.
“If,” Jaime croaked, “if you burn . . . we burn with you.”
Hilaris peered up at an invisible stain on the ceiling.
“Yes.”
That was the rule: if a boy charged as guilty burned, he watched his entire family burn with him.
“But—I’m fourteen.” Jaime rolled the breather around his pocket feverishly. “What if—if they’re after me?”
“They’re not after you.”
Hilaris gripped his right wrist. The oil lamp illuminated a humiliating brand under his wrist: a circle intercepted with an X. The universal symbol for the handicapped.
“Your asthma,” his brother said. “You’re exempt. The King doesn’t bother with cripples.”
Jaime yanked his arm away. “I’m not a cripple,” he spat.
“The only other boys of age are Periander Kreed and Cassie the orphan.” Hilaris raised his voice over his. “Cassie is a mute. And your friend, the Kreed boy—he gets sick what, six times a day?”
“Leave Peri out of this.”
“Grow up, Jaime. Am I right?”
Peri and Cassie had handicap symbols burned onto their wrists, same as him. Hilaris was right. Like Jaime, they were exempt from the Decree.
All the other boys of age across Jaypes Kingdom were executed a long time ago—which meant if the Archpriestess rode here all the way from the Capital, someone had been lying about their age for fourteen years.
“Lord Gaiyus is clearing an escape route for us.” Hilaris sidestepped Hida, his hand squeezing hers, and placed the tome back into the strongbox. “We’re going north, into the mountains.”
“You are,” Jaime cried. “Not us. We’re not responsible for your mess!”
“Pack your things. Both of you. Quickly.”
Jaime sucked again on his breather. It didn’t help the paper-dryness of his lungs or his watering eyes.
“Gods. This is impossible.”
But it was possible that Hilaris was also born in 1982—because they weren’t blood-brothers. Jaime was adopted. That wasn’t unusual in these villages. Thousands of Jaypan men had died in the Storm of Flames, the war following the King’s invasion. Hilaris’s blood-father, Hektor Pappas, lost his life in it. The widows left behind adopted orphaned children like Cassie, the mute boy. Or Peri, whom the blacksmith fostered. Or Jaime.
Still, Hilaris’s confession didn’t make any sense. Hilaris and Jaime looked worlds apart, the former with his drum-deep voice and sculpted shoulders and intense pewter eyes. Also, Hilaris was a whole two heads taller than their mother.
His brother could pass for sixteen, not fourteen.
“You lied to the census.” Jaime marched to Hilaris and kicked the strongbox aside. “You lied to the King? What were you thinking!”
“It was the only way to keep your brother with us,” Hida said. “I was ready to take that risk.”
“You too, Mamá?” Jaime pounded his fists at the air. “You’re involved in this, too?”
Hilaris grabbed him by scruff. “Keep it down, I said, or you’ll draw the soldiers to us!”
“Shove off!” Jaime elbowed him. Hilaris let go. He threw his hot gaze past him to Hida. “This is ridiculous. How did they suddenly find out Hilaris’s age if he was lying the whole time?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Hilaris strutted to the door. “It—it doesn’t matter right now, Jamian. We can talk later. Do you have everything you need?”
His breathing quailed.
It would be so easy to hate his brother. But Hilaris was right: Jaime didn’t have time to hate right now. That would come later, when they were safe in the wilderness, and he could slam Hilaris’s stupid tome in his own face.
A long breath.
Jaime closed his eyes.
“How long will we be in the mountains for?”
“I’m not sure. Commander Julias will take us as far as the Sky Pass. After that—I’m thinking we can go further north. The airpriests will give us refuge in the High Temple. That will keep us away from the lowland City-States and the royal patrols.”
“Yeah, and it’ll also keep us without food to last us a week. Or water, unless your lord father is planning to deliver us jars by cart.” Jaime suddenly remembered. He switched his gaze to his mother in guilt. “I brought drinking water from the well, but I dropped the jar on the way back. I saw the Arch—”
“Jaime Oilythumbs,” his brother interrupted.
He rolled his eyes, but it was a familiar jab from their childhood. The tension in his chest eased a little. He decided not to mention the white mist that had leached out of the Archpriestess.
Probably just his imagination.
“The barrows,” Jaime said. “There’s a vessel in your papá’s grave with coins. Right?”
Stormfire Page 1
